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As a pair of arrows coursed over Irian’s head, Thor was already drawing back his hammer to strike an overly large spider. The new hammer’s effect was extremely satisfying-spider guts flew in an arc, splattering Irian and the encroaching vermin.

“Cernunnos is with us! Attack!”

And they did. For a few moments, all was swinging limbs and flying arthropod pieces, and then the flood of vermin thinned. Thor was at the forefront, swinging madly, while the Queen blasted what still moved. Irian and Namid danced through the hordes, blade and bow intertwining, their practice obviously paying off. Irian was lost to the battle-lust, and his eyes were white, sclerae showing as they rolled back in his head. Even blind, he was an engine of destruction, his blade never failing to find its mark.

The vermin were either dead or scattered (a problem in the future, Thor mused) and there was a respite. They could see the dust in the distance, closing fast. And above the dust, moving even faster, was what appeared to be a Harvest skimmer.

Perched upon it was a figure that could only be the Prince of Brass, wielding a giant scythe. The battle was afoot.